Adventure Of The Scorned Landlady
by let-the-eli-in
Summary: [oneshot, postDying Detective] After a dinner at Simpson's, Holmes must confront a very distressed member of the female sex.


My friend Sherlock Holmes and I were dining at Simpson's, and I can honestly say that I never have witnessed that man eat more. Indeed, I began to feel that if he continued, he could have gone on yet another three day fast and still not sense the pain of hunger! Holmes devoured all that was set in front of him, a far cry from the man who barely touched the stores in his cupboard. I watched him curiously, smile on my lips, until he happened to catch my eye.

"There is nothing such as a hearty meal when one is in need of it. You're not thinking of denying me that, are you?"

I laughed at his defensive manner. "Of course not, Holmes. Wouldn't think of it." I truly would not. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to see my friend plump and well-fed.

"Thank you. I would not have enjoyed shooting my most esteemed chronicler."

He continued in this way, joking about and what not, returning to the usual suavity of his manner. His leisurely conduct, however, betrayed the extraordinary experience we both of us had undergone. I had not yet slipped back into the fold of normalcy as Holmes had so quickly done. I was still haunted by the pale, deplorable figure that had been the great detective. Most of it had been conceived by make-up, yet I was thoroughly convinced I was witnessing the death throes of my dearest friend.

As Holmes helped himself to a dish of biscuits, my ever-wandering thoughts fled to another particular individual who had suffered greatly at the scheme of his. "Holmes," I began, "how shall you explain this to Mrs. Hudson?"

Holmes' hand ceased to transfer biscuit to mouth. The look he presented me told me that the notion of explaining his actions to his landlady had not occurred to him. "Well, Mrs. Hudson is a more forgiving member of her sex, I shall assume; how much harm can come of it?"

"I doubt that she will take to it kindly, Holmes."

A mischievous twinkle came about within my companion's eyes. "Then, you have your revolver with you, do you not, my dear Watson?"

I laughed at this, yet I could not help feeling a little unsettled. "I am sorry to say that I have left it at home. In any case, what if she does not-"

"-take it kindly? Then I might yet be a dying detective."

---

We returned to our lodgings at Baker Street, the chill of a late night upon us. Holmes fished in his pockets for his keys; however, he did so with a lethargic air, seemingly apprehensive at opening the door. It was the one defense we had against a possibly irate woman.

Our rooms were calm and silent, and Holmes sank into the nearest armchair, sighing with what I assume was relief. I seated myself across from him, leafing through the morning papers that I had not the chance to read earlier. My companion and I sat in silence for some moments, when he finally gave a brief cry of laughter.

"Mrs. Hudson, she disappoints me!"

Curiosity arose within me at this statement. "What do you mean?"

"My dear Watson, she is hardly common when it comes to women! She is undoubtedly conscious of our absence, and our return, yet she does not come to reprimand me! 'Pon my word, she is unlike any other lady in London."

I considered this, but I did not agree with Holmes. "I can hardly suspect that she is so tolerant."

"Ah, however -"

Holmes' voice was drowned by a clatter arising from the stairs, and Mrs. Hudson rushed up to our sitting room, eyes fiery and bloodshot, and her hair was severely disheveled. She had a wild air about her, and seemed quite close to a burst of hysterics.

My companion's face paled slightly with chagrin. "Good God… perhaps I shall perish yet."

Mrs. Hudson contorted her face, apparently in an attempt to stop any forthcoming tears. I felt sure that she would begin weeping at any moment, especially as she gazed darkly at Holmes. With general courtesy I surrendered my chair, and she took it without a word or gesture of thanks (though, considering her state, I will hardly blame her). Her shoulders shook violently as she struggled unsuccessfully to regain some hint of composure.

"Mr. Holmes, you're looking quite well." She paused here for a desperate gasp of air. "Yes, quite well. I'm glad for it, really. Truly glad!"

Mrs. Hudson could no longer restrain her emotions. She crumbled into what Holmes might call a "perfect example of the instabilities of women". She sobbed horribly for the next minutes, neither myself or Holmes moving to comfort her. It wasn't an act of callousness; we simply felt it best not to approach her in that state.

I glanced apprehensively at my friend. He appeared, as I expected, ill at ease. His long, thin fingers tapped nervously at the arm of his chair. However, Holmes eventually stood and walked over to the shaking form of Mrs. Hudson. He steadied her shoulder with a slender hand, and began the act of soothing her. This was a strange yet useful skill of his, as he often had dealings with women, most of whom were in some sort of lament as they came up the steps to our lodgings.

"Now, Mrs. Hudson, you must cease this childish behavior. Don't you see it's folly? You know that I must assume certain disguises in my line of work. Do you suppose that I would truly would allow someone to do me in? I think-"

There was a terrible crash, as if something had collided with the flooring. To my surprise, it was Holmes, lying in a heap with a reddening mark across his face. Mrs. Hudson was now standing, her hand suspended in the air. Her appearance of sorrow had been bent into a look of anger.

"You can be assured, Mr. Holmes, that I shall be increasing your pay to me!"

**A/N: My first Sherlock Holmes story, and it's humor. Fancy that! Not always my area of expertise, but I don't think I'd enjoy putting my favorite literary character through the genre of romance. Anyway, I'm not too happy with this, but I'll let you reviewers be the judge of that. Flame until crisp and blackened please. **


End file.
